


Humanoid Cylon Controlled Gen Sequence 1.2

by sageness



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003), Canadian 6 Degrees
Genre: Canon - TV, F/M, M/M, Porn Battle, Religion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-11
Updated: 2006-06-11
Packaged: 2017-10-03 03:25:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sageness/pseuds/sageness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"May it please God."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Humanoid Cylon Controlled Gen Sequence 1.2

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Oxonienses' Porn Battle 2: the Rematch](http://oxoniensis.livejournal.com/247895.html).

They are new.

 

Leoben is gathered from the tank by the Leobens who await him. He is dripping and naked, and their hands are gentle but firm on his shoulders. They push his wet hair back from his face and look into his eyes. They cup his neck with long-fingered hands, stroking thumbs over his stubbly cheeks. They pull him close against them, sharing heat, each imparting to him a breath of life, of home.

 

In the next rebirthing area, Six is coming awake. Her other iterations glide smooth hands over her hair, pulling her into embrace after embrace, caressing her long back, her narrow waist, kissing her welcome.

 

They catch each other's eye and step free of the others. They have new information to decipher and test.

 

Together, he and Six traverse the corridor to a room resembling a Caprican human bedroom.

 

"Pleasure," she says. The tone of her voice sends a shiver through him and they fall to the bed together. They kiss, and her kisses are hot against his mouth.

 

He is responding already. This is good. Perhaps this is the way.

 

She strokes his erection with a gentle hand. "God commands it."

 

"God commands it," he agrees, nibbling at her neck. She digs fingers into his back.

 

He moves down further, sucks one of her nipples into his mouth while tracing the undersides, the place where her breasts meet her ribs, with his thumbs. She arches and makes a sound like she likes it. He switches sides with his mouth and moves one hand down between her legs.

 

He remembers the last time they did this for the first time. He strokes her clit with his thumb and feels her stiffen slightly. She remembers too, then.

 

"In God's image," he whispers over her heart, and she tilts his head up, meeting his mouth for a slow kiss.

 

"In God's image," she says, and strokes his shoulder.

 

He moves down again, and replaces his thumb with his mouth. She still tastes like saline here, where the fluid from the tank lingers in her hair. She trembles under his tongue, flesh swelling with his attention. Her hips press up, toward his mouth. He watches her face: her eyes are bright, her lips are parted. He lets a finger dip into her entrance, watching her face. She nods and he presses in further.

 

The muscles relax slowly as he strokes in and out; he can feel the edges of her hymen and he doesn't want to hurt her any more than it has to. She's bearing down on him now, panting and moving her hips in time with him. He adds another finger and twists, and something good happens. Her whole body is moving with the flow of it and her face is full of bliss.

 

He prays, _Please let this be_, and rubs his tongue harder against her.

 

They need proof of their theory.

 

Her body shakes against him and he feels the hymen tear under his fingertip. Her eyes go wide and she sucks in a breath, but she doesn't cry out; he doesn't stop moving. The fingers do what they must. They push deeper, discovering.

 

"Yes," she says, fingers against his cheek.

 

He takes her hand and kisses it. Then he kisses her belly, her breasts, and her mouth. As they kiss, he guides his leaking erection into her body, praying, _Please God_. Her legs embrace his hips; he thrusts and thrusts, kissing her with as much fierceness and desperation as she shows him.

 

"May it please God," he groans against her mouth.

 

"May it please God." She locks her thighs around him as he comes.

 

Things go dim and he sees himself in her. He sees many Leobens with many Sixes, hundreds of them and hundreds more standing to the side, more aged, scarred, battleworn. None of the Sixes show signs of pregnancy or motherhood.

 

He searches the scene for a sign.

 

A battlestar flies overhead.

 

Six's gaze is sharp, and he shakes his head: their theory was wrong. "It has to be a human," he tells her, and withdraws from her body.

 

She swallows hard and nods. Then she gets up and leaves the room. There's blood on his fingers, on the sheet, on his penis.

 

Two Leobens enter and lie down next to him, one on each side. He turns toward one and lies his head on his chest while the other spoons against his back.

 

"We never believed it would be easy," one says. And that's true, they didn't.

 

The heartbeat in the chest under his ear lulls him with its steady thud of fluid and tissue.

 

He drifts off thinking of rivers. And battlestars.


End file.
